The Crow Goddess Incarnate
by Crow in the Woods
Summary: Dean always has tried to avoid witches and their Gods. So, the Morrigan decides to pay him a long overdue visit. She tells him that her daughter, a powerful witch, is headed his way. He can try to make friends, or he'll face off with a deadly witch and a livid war goddess. Either way, he cannot avoid the situation. He is about to face the Crow Goddess Incarnate. Rated M to be safe


_Author's Note: This is my first fanfic guys, so please don't tear me into itty bitty shreds. I'd love to hear what you all think, so please leave reviews! Don't really know how often I'll be able to update this with all of the assignments I have floating through my door, but I'll try my hardest. __This first chapter is going to serve as a bit of a teaser. Just sort of setting the scene for what I've got planned._

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His eyes flung open...

Mist. There was mist. So much that he could barely see a few feet in front of him. And it twisted and curled like smoke. Dancing about him, he felt its glorious coolness. He felt light, for the first time in weeks. After being so used to the feeling of sweat, heat, and carrying heavy objects, mist was a nice change. Looking down, he saw his new, but strange apparel. Some sort of old outfit made out of fur and plaid cloth. It was soft, comfortable, and loose. Nothing covered his chest, but blue designs and a woolen cloak that was pinned at his shoulder with a needle like brooch. He looked at it, and noticed the pattern on the brooch matched the blue paint on his chest. These blue designs covered both his torso and arms. He studied his body up and down, until he took notice of the pool at his feet. To his sides he looked. It was a ford of some river in the middle of an autumn forest.

Crouching down, he saw his face in the crystal liquid. All imperfections were gone. No blood stains, cuts, or scars. Just his chiseled features, and striking eyes, which matched the paint on his body, and apparently, his face as well. The blue symbols were painted on his cheekbones, brow, and forehead. Making sure he was still awake, he splashed the water in his face, drinking a few drops. It tasted exquisite. He took a few more handfuls. They were the most refreshing sips he'd ever taken in his life, but there was something off about it's taste. It tasted like iron. And the water was no longer completely clear. Red spirals danced in it. He staggered back onto his feet. There was something off about the whole ordeal.

Nine crows were perched above his head, observing him. They all called together, almost in a manner to catch his attention. He looked up at them, puzzled, but as soon as his eyes reached the branch, they were gone. He could hear their wings beating in the canopies, around him, everywhere. Until it stopped, and there was a voice. A sensual, but strong voice with an Irish accent. "How do you like it here, Dean? Is it to your satisfaction?" The last sentence was suggestive enough to make him weary.

He reached for a weapon, to find nothing, not even a knife. Swerving around, he saw a woman, taller than his stature. Her hair was long and curled like a raven colored flame that danced about her. She wore a dark blue gown adorned with Celtic knots and symbols, with leather plates almost like armor, and a long cloak made of crow feathers and black cloth. A triquetra pendant forged of jet and red amber hung from a torque above her bosom. She held a tall blackthorn rod with a Celtic spear head atop like a queenly scepter. Her face was just as menacingly beautiful; Pronounced cheekbones, strong jaw, eyes as green as the trees, lashes as long as a horse, and skin pale as milk. She was staring him down with a look that insinuated lust, but demanded fear.

"Where is _here_, exactly?" he asked with puzzlement and comicality. She smiled an almost demeaning smile at his attempt to lighten the mood.

"Wherever I wish it to be", she said with conviction.

"And who exactly are you?" he questioned with a bit more seriousness.

"I have many names... but you will do well to remember one: the Morrigan." She said the last word with pride. The way she said it sent tingles down his spine. There was a sensuality about it, yet an air of terror still remained after.

He opened his mouth to respond, but she appeared out of a waft of mist next to him. "So many questions. Unneeded ones. Let me answer them all quickly-" she sung into his ear, her breath tantalized his senses. "My daughter comes your way. A powerful sorceress; one who is known, but reduced to a myth-"

"Lady, stop talking like Sam! What the hell are you telling me? Some witch is coming after me? I don't really feel like dealing with this right now..." he finished with a definite tone, pushing her away with a forceful hand. Her face hardened, her eyes turned red, and her back stiffened.

The wind picked up. Black mist and darkness shrouded her. Her cloak flew up and morphed into two massive black wings. She seemed to turn into a terrifying, seductive shadow with glowing red eyes. His eyes widened, his jaw dropped, his throat seized up, and he could not breathe properly. She smirked at his reaction to her intimidation. Collecting herself, her face softened, her eyes turned green again, her cloak resumed its original form, and the winds calmed themselves. He managed to calm himself too, but his heart was not so easy to soothe.

"W-what are you?" He demanded through his panting an clenched teeth.

"A goddess. Just as you are a mortal. You will show me the proper reverence from now on..."

"Does that mean-"

"My daughter is a goddess? No. Not formally, anyway."

He muttered a few select curse words under his breath and dipped his head. "I know I'm going to regret this..." he whispered, "tell me this plan of yours." He brought his eyes up to hers. She noticed they looked tired. Pity...

"I gave birth to her soul, and hand crafted her body. She is my pride and joy... and my Second-in-Command. She has made her name known in her past lives, of course. Now, in this life time, it is time for larger things, larger than before at least. And you", she stroked his cheek, and lightly grasped his chin, with her lips on his as she spoke, " are going to help in this plan of mine." Her eyes looked into his with intensity. He almost fell into a kiss, until he snapped out of her spell.

"I don't go around doing goddesses' dirty work..." He attempted to walk away from her. As he pulled his face from her grip, she scratched his chin with her long, talon like nails. As he walked towards the mist, her forceful voice once again caught his ear.

"I cursed the last man that talked to me like that to die and savored every second of his demise..." He looked to his feet and raised his brows. She walked over to him in a serious stride, making his head whip back up. "You can defy me, but you cannot defy the whims of Fate itself. My time with you here has come to it's fruition... When I depart, you will leave this place. Do this task willingly, and I assure you, you shall fall into my good graces and reap the benefits." She took his hand into hers and painted a symbol with three spirals with some thick blue mixture. She finished the drawing with the three moons, waxing, full, and waning, at the tip of each of the spirals. Only she drew these with the drops of his blood left on her fingertips from his chin. Turning her back to him, she walked away slowly, the cloak and her hair catching the cold autumn wind like the mist itself.

"At least tell me the name of your daughter!" She turned around to see the glint of desperation in his eyes.

"Morgana."

With that, she shifted into a flock of nine crows fluttering into the air, and flew away into the mist.

His eyes flung open...

He was once again that crappy motel room. He looked over at the bed next to his. Sam was on his stomach, sleeping soundly, but loudly. Beer bottles and candy covered the floor. It was Halloween night. He felt the bad mixture of sweets, alcohol, and probably liquor, all fighting inside him. The television was on and Practical Magic was playing. There seemed to be a significance to it. _Probably just the fact that they're witches, _he told himself.

Damn witches... damn their Old Gods... damn their magic... somehow they always managed to screw something up. If there was one thing that Dean hated most, it was witches. Just a bunch of idiotic people playing with things they couldn't even begin to understand. Trafficking themselves for the sake of being in control. It was sad, really. In the same stride, they were headstrong, thinking they own the world, running on borrowed powers. And Halloween was the time of the witch... for that reason, he hated the so called "Holiday." He and Sam always ended up hunting some "black coven of blabiddy blah 'insert pagan god here'" during this time of year. Some group of idiots messing with dark forces, would try to do something stupid, like splitting the veil between worlds. Only this year, someone has split it. Or rather, a group of someone's. No witch had that much power on her own.

He looked over to the clock. 12:03 a.m. The veil just went back up, there was a shift in the air. The veil between the two worlds was still thin, and it would be for a few days, but it wasn't open like before. He's just got to find the coven who split it. But not tonight, not after that hell of a dream. The whole ordeal made his head hurt. It was far too complicated to be thinking about with a stomach that felt like it was beating itself up and a headache that felt like he was shot. He walked over to his bag and popped a few painkillers and muttered to himself "What task?" over and over. He stumbled back over to the bed. After staring at the ceiling, and saying that phrase for what seemed to be the ninth time, he felt a burning on his hand. When he lifted it, there was a blue tattoo of that triple spiral, complete with three moons made from red ink. Whispered voices, hissing like snakes, filled his ears, and he could only make out one phrase: "_She is coming". _


End file.
